


The Accident

by alicesprings



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Crack, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicesprings/pseuds/alicesprings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually, Brian and Justin got around to taking that snowboarding trip to Vermont.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Accident

**Author's Note:**

> Crackity crack.

Eventually, Brian and Justin got around to taking that snowboarding trip to Vermont.

They had snowball fights. At Justin's insistence, they made snow angels. They drank hot toddies by the fireplace, and soaked in the Jacuzzi together. They were ridiculously romantic and they loved every minute of it.

Until the accident.

No one ever found out what really happened; not even Michael could get the truth out of Brian. But when they were eventually found behind the chair lift tower, half-naked, bruised, and battered, they'd given new meaning to the term “extreme sports.”

Any lingering upset Justin had harbored at missing out on the Liberty Ride disappeared when he was treated to a re-enactment of Brian breaking his collarbone – and a few ribs for good measure – and with the cursing streak that followed, Justin felt like he'd been there after all.

Of course, his own leg was broken, so it was fair to say he'd had a few choice words as well. Just ask the shocked chair lift operator who found them.

“You're quite the fucking pair, aren't you?” said Debbie, hands on hips staring at them laid up in bed. “I knew all your fucking in public places was going to get the better of you one day. Serves you both right."

Debbie had a unique brand of sympathy.

Justin turned wounded puppy dog eyes on her. “Debbie, we're in pain here. My leg really hurts. And what if it had been my arm? What if I'd never been able to draw the same way again? Haven't I been through enough already?”

Brian marveled at Justin's quivering lip.

“Aww baby, of course you have,” said Debbie.

Brian used to wonder how Justin got away with so much when he lived with Debbie - most of it at Brian's instigation, of course. Now he knew.

Debbie sat next to Justin on the bed, clutching him to her ample bosom. “I'm sorry, baby, you know I'd never want to see you hurt.” She finally released him and he sank back gratefully against the pillows. “Not even you, asshole,” she slapped Brian on the cheek. “But don't think I don't know this was your fault.”

“Why, Debbie, I'm shocked. Why exactly would you suggest this is my fault? You weren't even there,” Brian said in just the right tone to guarantee getting a rise out of Debbie.

She gave him the evil eye. “I know enough to know,” she said.

As Brian and Justin pondered another of Debbie's ambiguous pearls of wisdom, she busied herself straightening up the paraphernalia on the bedside table. “You getting a lot of drawing done while you're stuck in bed, baby?” she asked, stacking Justin's sketchbooks into a neat pile.

“Sure am, Deb,” Justin said.

“The lad's been using that hand night and day,” Brian said with a lascivious grin. Debbie scowled.

“Debbie,” Justin said, bringing her attention back to him. “I'm kinda hungry. Would you mind bringing the food you brought in here, please?” He gave her an angelic smile.

“Of course, Sunshine, I'll be right back.”

As Debbie left the room, Brian leaned over and whispered to Justin. “I see now why I never stood a chance against you.”

Justin grinned in return. “You fucking love it,” he said, then smacked a kiss against Brian's lips.

“How bout we re-enact some of those scenes you drew?” Brian asked, nodding his head toward the sketchbooks.

“I think we'd better wait until Debbie leaves for that. We don't want to give her a heart attack.”

Brian snorted. “Please. She'd probably pull up a chair and watch. You know, you'd have one hell of a show if you ever decided to put your current work on display. "Tales of a wounded artist". Frida Kahlo can eat her fucking heart out.”

“I've never exhibited porn before, Brian," said Justin. "And I'm not sure I want to start now.”

“I'm ashamed to call you my partner,” Brian said sadly.

Justin just grinned, then poked him in the ribs. He'd been getting a lot of perverse pleasure out of doing that lately.

“Motherfucker!" Brian shouted. Justin laughed evilly.

“What's going on in here?” Debbie demanded, carrying a tray of sandwiches into the bedroom.

“Nothing, Deb, Brian just made a wrong move and hurt his ribs.”

Brian glowered at Justin.

“Oh, you poor baby.” Debbie's mothering instincts had returned. “You want a pain pill before I go?”

Brian nodded sadly, no doubt reminding Debbie of the wounded 14-year-old kid she'd looked after all those years before.

Justin had learned from the master, after all.

*

“What's today's schedule?” Brian asked later as they lay together after lunch.

“Emmett's bringing magazines by around four, Michael's delivering ice cream and weed around five, and Ben will be here for sponge baths after that. I'm surprised Michael hasn't figured out we don't actually _need_ Ben for the sponge baths yet. I mean, I have two good hands and you can walk just fine.”

Brian shrugged. “I'm not about to tell him, are you?”

“Hell no,” Justin said. “Bath time's the best time of day.”

Brian leered at Justin. “What do you say we practice our _mobility exercises_ until then.”

“Mmmm, why not,” Justin said. "Let's see if we can come up with some new positions to draw for my collection."

And then they did.


End file.
